


The Gravity of a Binary Star

by pepperfield



Series: Tenurestuck [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe, F/F, Humanstuck, a love that transcends the quadrants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperfield/pseuds/pepperfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An (extra)ordinary day in the lives of Professors Serket and Pyrope.</p><p>[Can be read as a standalone story.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gravity of a Binary Star

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after the events of the main story.

For a few minutes, you pretend not to be awake, trying to keep your breathing even and slightly heavy. You can feel her shift against your side, sharp elbows stabbing into your waist, but you refuse to flinch. She makes a faint noise in bemusement, before snickering and plastering herself along your whole body. She's wearing a thin t-shirt, the material worn down to threads in some places and it rubs against your bare shoulder as she claws closer to your neck. You know it's coming, but you can't steel yourself because you'll give it away if you do. So when the first raspy drag of her tongue leaves a slimy trail of spit on your jaw, you try not to react. But then she just keeps on going, lapping up your cheek and closer to your eyes, and okay, that's enough. You scramble up and shove Terezi off you, and she tumbles backwards into the pillows with a happy cry.  
  
"Okay, okay, I'm up! Quit your slobbering." You kick at her skinny legs where they stick up in the air, while swiping at your face with the back of your hand. Ugh. She manages to make licking the least sexy thing ever.  
  
Terezi rocks back forward until she's sitting up in your space again. "Gotten enough beauty sleep yet, spiderbreath?" she asks.  
  
"Hey, your mouth is at least 8 times grosser than mine right now," you retort, but it's undermined by your arms reaching out to wrap around her bony hips and pull her closer.  
  
"That's a pretty bold claim to make, Serket. Do you have any proof to back it up?"  
  
You make a mildly disgusted face at her. "No way am I kissing you to find out." She leans her face right up against yours, and you draw back. "Come oooooooon, you woke me up, so you get to treat me to breakfast after we're clean." Yanking at Terezi's hand, you lead her into the bathroom, and prepare her toothbrush with a huge glob of that disgusting cherry toothpaste she likes so much. "Here, I even got the red kind for you. No need to thank me or anything."  
  
She laughs as she brushes up a froth. "No need to coddle me or anything, Vriska." She's not wearing her glasses right now, and you can see her milky eyes staring straight at you. Even though she can't see, she always finds you nonetheless. Maybe it's because you've known each other for so long, but you don't dwell on that because you've finally learned that some things really should just stay in the past. The desire to reach out and trace your fingertips down her eyelids wells up in you, but you ignore it, just like you ignore the way that you know every one of her puckered scars, the way her nails drag too long against your jawline, the way she sleeps pressed in tight and snug by your side but leaves her arms wrapped around herself.  
  
"Man, how am I supposed to deal with someone as ungrateful as you?" you gripe, but conversation fades out as Terezi just cackles again and you focus on cleansing your teeth of that foul, furry sensation. When she nears the sink to rinse out her mouth, she seeks your wrist and presses gently against your pulse point, leaving her hand there for a moment before letting go. You scrub harder at your face to hide the blush that you know she can't see but can probably smell because she's a nutcase like that. How did you ever get saddled with a weirdo like this?  
  
\--  
  
You make Vriska drive the two of you into town for breakfast, since neither of you can cook for beans. You direct her to a diner that Dave recommended to you; apparently the establishment is shitty enough to be off-putting, rather than charming, which is always a draw for him, and far away enough from campus that you're unlikely to run into students. The food garners a solid B-, so Vriska won't have too much to complain about.  
  
As she peruses the menu with some choice comments about the waitstaff and the tacky seats, you breathe in the scent of the restaurant, which leaves you feeling a little ill, since the power of bacon weighs down everything else, almost drowning out the sweet cling of syrup and hazy smog of tobacco. Under it all, you can make out Vriska, sitting across from you in the booth. She smells clean, like her blueberry body wash, and her voice, kept to a mutter, still calls out distinctly to you, despite the scrape of utensils against plates and shouted orders in the kitchen. That familiar marching cadence of her words, the hint of rasp, the gilded lilt of her lies, and the small hitch of breath when she comes up for air after a bout of particular long-windedness.  
  
"I guess we could split one of these specials. I kind of want a milkshake, but these don't sound too great. Seriously, how is 'appleberry' an ice cream flavor? Oh, and do you want extra pancakes? They better be fluffy, because paying six bucks for limp pancakes is bullshit." People notice that Vriska likes to talk about herself a lot; occasionally, she also likes to talk  _to_  herself. Dave does the same thing, but you've made the wise decision not to bring it up to either of them. They don't mesh well. Otherwise you'd invite him out on a double date just for the awkward hilarity of it all.  
  
"Hey, stop zoning out on me! Are we gonna do this, or what? I can't handle all these eggs alone, you know. And who the fuck can eat ten links of sausage by themself?"  
  
"Hehehehe, sorry, I got distracted by the nonsense coming out of your big mouth. You could probably fit at least a shovelful of scrambled eggs in there."  
  
"Oh, fuck you," Vriska returns without venom. She's probably rolling her eyes behind her glasses now. You flash an involuntary grin at the thought. You're always somewhat impressed by how well she expresses exasperation with just her voice. "Stop smiling like a doofus," she snaps, so you smile even wider. "Bacon or sausage?" Both sound unappealing.  
  
"Blar, let's spring for the 'fruity rainbow rumpus stack' instead," you offer.  
  
You can tell she's frowning at her menu now. "Where'd you see that?"  
  
Now it's your turn to roll your eyes. "I didn't see it anywhere, stupid. Someone suggested it to me."  
  
"It was Strider, wasn't it? Ugh, I can't stand that guy. I still don't know why you and John like him so much."  
  
"Dave's my friend. And I don't make fun of John for his awful taste in movies." Which is incidentally also Vriska's awful taste in movies. She's probably gearing up to chew you out now so you stretch your hand out across the sticky table and paw at her menu until she grudgingly gives you her hands. Grabbing a small container from the tabletop, you pour what is presumably salt all over her limbs until she snatches them back.  
  
"What the fuck?" You just beam full force with your sharpest smile until you can tell she's relented. "Fine, you dork. Hang out with Strider all you want, but you're not getting any of the cherry pancakes."  
  
"Boo! Hoarding is a federal crime. You'd better rethink your actions lest you end up on the wrong side of a noose."  
  
"Please, as if you could ever sentence me to capital punishment." From the tone of her voice you can tell it's a joke, but the sentence hits you uncomfortably close to some things better left buried. Vriska's tensed up now too, and you could maybe just let it go, but you won't. Sometimes you've just gotta take the plunge.  
  
"No, I probably couldn't," you tell her as frankly as you can, but there's a slight twist to your lips that you're sure she catches.  _The answer might have been different if it were three, five, eleven years ago_ , you don't tell her, because it isn't true, and you both know it.  
  
"Yeah, we're in a little too deep for that, aren't we?" She doesn't sound like she minds though, and you're struck with that nagging sense of fondness you get around her far too often. Things are never straightforward with Vriska. Never easy. This thing of yours - this tangled, endless, half dance/half war that the two of you have dragged out, bloody and screaming, for years - is something you've kept telling yourself you can put a stop to at any time, but the trick of it is, you'll never willingly do so. Vriska's as much your responsibility as she is your (heh) blind spot; you're the one who knows all the possible ways this can end, but she's the one who decides if she wants to play your game, and she's never said no so far. How could you ever be the one to let her go?  
  
"Yeah. Now enough's enough. It's rumpus time!"  
  
\--  
  
After breakfast, you drive up to campus to pick up a package. Terezi makes a fuss in the passenger's seat the whole way there, haranguing you about your excessive online shopping habits.  
  
"Is it more dice? Stepping on them at home isn't enough for you anymore, huh? Are you going to scatter them around your office too?" She's eating one of those crappy lollipops you snagged from the bank last week. The sugar stains her tongue blue. They taste like you, she's said before, but you don't get it at all.  
  
"No, shut up, I didn't buy any freaking dice. God."  
  
"Good, because you're going to have to patch up your own foot if you drive another one through the skin. Let's not relive the horror that was Dr. Redglare, M.D.. That rug burn lasted two weeks!"  
  
"Okay, that was a less than stellar plan, but I feel justified in saying that it's your fault I ever thought it would work."  
  
"And how do you figure that?"  
  
"Remember that time you and Karkat came back from that lame party and he was covered in bandages and missing half his hair and you had the golden badger stick?"  
  
"Oh. Hmmm. I can understand how you were misled."  
  
"Yep." You pull into the parking lot, which isn't as empty as you expected. Luckily, you don't run into any loser co-workers from your department on the way to the mailroom, but Terezi does chat up that Professor V guy while you get your loot. After she says her goodbyes, you return to the car, where you force the package on her.  
  
She shakes the box up and down. "What manner of trap have you set up this time, Vriska?"  
  
"Dammit, Pyrope, just open it!" You'd had it sent to your office so that Terezi couldn't snoop around and find it on her own, because you were saving it for her birthday, but you're feeling suddenly generous today, as you naturally do sometimes, so you're springing it on her as a surprise gift.  
  
Terezi knifes through the tape with her tiny canesword keychain (boy, do you ever regret buying that thing) and pulls out from the box a neatly folded garment. Laying it down on the trunk of your car, she slowly feels up the sides and peels back each folded layer until it lies mostly flat, then explores the detail of the hood, from the careful stitching on the raised horns to the shiny button eyes. Finally, she lifts the whole thing up and buries her face in the cloth for a long sniff.  
  
Pulling away, she gives you that look. The one you can't quite categorize, in all your years together.  
  
At sixteen, you're lying on the asphalt, thrown brokenly across the yellow lines cutting down the middle of the road, bleeding from the mouth and laughing at her stricken expression. Your lip is split and your whole body bruised to exhaustion, but you can't stop the borderline psychotic cackle bubbling out from your throat. This must be what she feels like all the time, you think blankly to yourself. Terezi scampers over and crouches above you, head tilted in calculation, and there it is, the look. Right after you recognize it, her hand slices out and slaps you briskly. Your giggles die away and you let her pull you up and into her house.  
  
At twenty-two, the camera flashes as you stand with your arm around her waist, each of you holding a diploma. You tell her you want to swap tassels, and she agrees with reluctance, but when she feels you attach hers securely onto your hat, she does the same, never turning away from you the whole time.  
  
At nine, Terezi lets you sleepover for the first time, and you forget a washcloth so she lends you one in rainbow colors. She leaves the light in the bathroom on so you can find your way there in the middle of the night, and gives you one of her scalemate dolls to snuggle. You want to tell her you think her pajamas are cute, so you call them dumb instead. Fifteen minutes after you tuck yourselves in, she crawls down from her mattress to your cocoon of blankets and worms her way in with you without a word. You hug her with one arm, and she lets you, but keeps her arms to herself. In the moonlight falling in from her window, her pale eyes seem to look straight through you and you shiver and pull her closer.  
  
And now, here you are, standing under the bright, gray sky, the wind teasing your messy hair, hands jammed in your pockets as she holds the red cape to her chest, head and eyes oriented up toward you, always toward you.  
  
"Jeez, will you just put it on already? It's getting really fucking cold out here, let's go, hurry up!!"  
  
Terezi looks down then, and slips the dragon hood onto her head, pulling the rest of the cape over her shoulders. Her mouth is crooked but her voice warm when she asks you, "It's red, right? It better be red, Serket!" She does a parody of a twirl and the cape spins neatly around her. It's ridiculous and perfect.  
  
"Obviously. Do you really think I'd screw up something as simple as that?"   
  
"I dunno, you don't have the best track record. But I guess even you can be pretty cool sometimes." She's distracted by the way the fabric swishes through her fingers, so the half-hearted compliment slips out.  
  
You stick your tongue out at her, which you're glad she can't see, and herd her toward the car. "Just get in, you lame-o."  
  
\--  
  
You can sense that Vriska is refusing to look at you while she drives, which is probably good, since you don't want to end up in a ditch again. It's fine, you're too distracted for proper conversation anyway. You've kicked off your shoes and balled up in your cape in the passenger's seat so it surrounds as much of you as possible. It's too bad the backseat is covered in old handouts and flyers about sustainable energy and free concerts. There's what looks to be a box of half eaten noodles from the dining hall spilling onto some paperwork from the health clinic, and loose change everywhere. It's all pretty gross, which is why you're not sprawled out across the leather seats. You can't believe you let Vriska steal your second kiss back there.  
  
The soft edges of the memory sneak up on you, and it's hard to disperse the romantic nostalgia when you're wrapped from head to knees in red. It's even harder not to link it to this moment in time, considering the circumstances. You know Vriska on a level that's hard for normal people to understand, because normal people don't cut each other down with scissors and ragged nails and words and then build each other up again, with parts of the other person sewn roughly in line with the correct pieces. And so you know that Vriska does things like this sometimes; that she thinks about other people and occasionally manages to express how she actually feels about them, beneath all her careful plots and guises. She's really her own worst enemy, with or without your help, so the nervous tapping of her fingers against the steering wheel and the constant humming tell you exactly what the gift is supposed to mean.  
  
And because she knows you just as well, it's evident that the way you've enveloped yourself in your present is your answer.  
  
Neither of you has ever said the words out loud.  
  
Maybe it's time that you did.  
  
\--  
  
It's late-October, which means a few things: Jane's pumpkin pies, grading papers, and the chance to wear your awesome pirate coat to fend off the wind. Unfortunately, you've got only two of the three today, but after that ludicrous number of pancakes, you're not sure you can handle pie anyway. Terezi's stupidly into trees, so you tend to do your grading in the park as long as the town is still snowfree.  
  
Terezi finished with her batch of philosophy papers last week, so it's just you, sitting on the bench with your maritime history essays. She's managed to climb up a low leaning tree by the duck pond, where she sits, laughing or making screeching dragon sounds at passersby once in a while. You pretend not to be associated with her, but it's hard when she keeps tossing acorns at your head. Eventually you give up and settle under her tree to read the most outrageous parts of your essays out loud.  
  
"Wow, this is definitely the best so far. 'But some would argue that when he assumes the name of Dualscar, he is actually returning to a long tradition of-' hey, are you asleep up there?" Terezi's staring out at who knows what in the distance. You've described the view to her before from that tree, in every season, over the span of many years. You don't think that it changes much, but every so often she asks you to start from scratch and describe it again. Different iterations of the same story.  
  
"Just thinking something over," she responds. "Vriska. Let's make a bet."  
  
You perk up in interest at this. "You sure you want to do that? You of all people should know just how much luck I have on my side." You try not to preen too much.  
  
She turns her head to face down at you, with an inscrutable expression on her face. "I'm sure."  
  
"Okay. Should we set terms first?"  
  
Terezi raises an eyebrow in skepticism. "You want to set terms before you even hear what the bet is about? As your self-appointed legal counsel, I'm going to have to tell you that's a really dumb idea."  
  
"Nah, it'll be more fun this way. Don't chicken out on me, man. I'm letting you have the advantage here! Can't you just accept a nice gesture when you see one?" When she raises her other eyebrow, you backtrack. "Sorry, when you hear one. Whatever."  
  
She breaks out a small grin at that. "Okay, fine, what do you want from me?"  
  
You pause to think for a minute. "Hm. If I win...then you have to marathon with me all of the movies Nic Cage has ever been in."  
  
Terezi shrugs. "Meh, it could be worse. You sure you don't want to up the ante?"  
  
"Haha, don't think you can trick me. I think I'll wait until I figure out what game you're playing."  
  
"Who says this is a game?" She's got that old glint to her smile though, and you're both a little relieved to see that predictable taunt, and on edge, because there's definitely something going on here.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, you can't fool me. What if you win?"  
  
"You have to wash the dishes for a month. Acceptable?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, I guess?" Kind of boring, but whatever. She shimmies down the tree and drops next to you. You take her hand in preparation, about to shake it. "So what's the bet?"  
  
Terezi draws herself up to her full height, which is still a few inches short of your chin. She stares straight up into your eyes.  
  
"I bet you're going to be the one wearing the wedding dress."  
  
You blink at that weird non-sequitur, until its meaning smacks you in the face. Hard. Terezi's poker face doesn't crack.  
  
"Wait,  _what_? Dress? What the  _fuck_ , Pyrope?! Is this seriously how you're going to propose??? We're standing next to a duck pond! There are old people playing chess like four feet away!" Your voice has become embarrassingly screechy by the end. Other people in the park look conflicted about whether to congratulate you or intervene.  
  
Finally, a twitch at the corner of her mouth gives way to a full on laugh.  
  
"Sorry, Serket, are you more of a traditionalist? Do you want me to get down on one knee?" She does so. "Ahem. Will you, Vriska Serket, marry me, Terezi Pyrope, and be my criminally wedded wife?"  
  
You're more than a little overwhelmed right now, but you can at least bring yourself to say, "Oh, I don't know. Want me to  _flip a fucking coin_  to decide?!" Because, honestly, what the fuck, who proposes via bet? You try to pretend that you're not touched by the stupid gesture she's making.  
  
"And leave it up to luck? Why not? I've got a coin for you right here," Terezi says, and fishes her double-headed caesar out from her jeans pocket. You can't help but to huff in amusement.  
  
"I don't know, Terezi, being tied to you forever? That's a rough sentence, even for me, your honor." You bend down to join her on the grass and she lowers her knee. She flicks the coin up, and you watch the shining blur spin into the palm of her hand.  
  
"Sorry, you're out of luck. This is the only possible outcome there ever was, in all worlds, real or theoretical. We're stuck in this together."  
  
You pause at that.  
  
"Are we? Is that why you're doing this?"  
  
The weight of her head settling onto your shoulder is an unacknowledged comfort. "We both know there's never going to be anyone else. It's always been you, Vriska."  
  
You've known for over a decade that Terezi would never leave you, ever since that one drunken night under the bridge by the edge of town. But it's different hearing her saying it out loud. The language you speak with her has always been one of empty gestures and imminent promises, each word carrying multiple meanings and a lie tucked somewhere in between. She's learned to hear everything you're too proud to say in each action you take.  
  
A knock on her office door at lunch means,  _Don't forget about me_.  
  
Making her chicken soup when she has the flu,  _Trust me, I've got your back_.  
  
A backwards glance and a tug on her sleeve,  _Follow me, follow me when I leave, no matter where I go_.  
  
A pinch, a smile, a kiss, a scratch, a laugh,  _I love you, I love you, I love you_.  
  
You clear your throat in the least awkward manner possible. "Is that so."  
  
"All signs point to yes."  
  
"C'mon, you can't use a magic eight ball line on me! That's not playing fair."  
  
"I'm just bringing myself down to your level."  
  
"Fine, then. Uh. It's the same for me, by the way."  
  
"Sorry, I didn't catch that. What were you saying?" Smug is an annoyingly good look on her.  
  
"You're it for me, Pyrope. You always were."  
  
There! The look resurfaces once more, but it's quickly followed by Terezi's terrible grin. "Is that a yes, then?"  
  
"To what, marriage? I guess it's a 'yeah, maybe someday'. I mean, I will, you know? Just, we're pretty okay the way we are now."  
  
She reaches out from under her cape to pat you on the leg. "We are. Don't worry, we can wait. It's not like I have an engagement ring or anything for you anyway."  
  
"Classy. Just like your dragonsuit. Ugh, I can't believe you proposed to me while wearing that!"  
  
Terezi busts out her cackle. "You brought this upon yourself! And don't pretend like you wear that pirate coat for 'historical' reasons; you're just as bad as I am."  
  
"Then it's good we found each other, isn't it," you reply while trying to roll her off you. She smiles up at you from where you've wrangled her onto the ground, her hand now tangled in yours.  
  
"Yeah, it is."


End file.
